Tip of Your Tongue
by broadwaybaby529
Summary: "In one last goading attempt to stay in control Hermione whispered to the room ablaze with sexual tension and fervor. 'What are you waiting for'"


Tip of Your Tongue

**Disclaimer**: No dice

**Pairing**: Charlie/Hermione

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: Erotica (read: smut), language, drinking, run on sentences, shameless fantasizing, PWP, ect, onward and upward.

**Summary**: "In one last goading attempt to stay in control Hermione whispered to the room ablaze with sexual tension and fervor. 'What are you waiting for?'"

**A/N:** Hey Chickies - here with another shameless story for your equally depraved, wonderfully salacious minds. I swear I hadn't meant for it to turn so obviously into PWP, but no matter. Also, if anyone has a better idea for the title let me know! Enjoy!

Tip of Your Tongue

It was a struggle for Hermione to keep her balance, even on the short Floo trip from the Ministry's Grand Ball. She was unaccustomed to the high reaching heels upon her feet, so usually clad in sensible pumps, and she could feel Charlie's arm wrap instinctively around her, pressing the sensual fabric of her midnight blue dress into her side. She pushed back against him, feeling the enormous, calloused hands against her body and reveling in the sensation. The man had an ability to drive her wild at the slightest touch.

They landed in Hermione's flat quickly, and she made for the wine rack, picking a deep Merlot she knew they would both enjoy, and one that would serve the greater purpose of the evening.

Charlie came up behind her as she poured the glasses at the counter, the rough rigid lines of his body contouring perfectly to the curves and softness of her own. Though he stood so much taller than her, opposite in shape and hair color and skin tone, they fit together as if they were sculpted from clay by the skilled fingers of artists passed. The way Charlie was running his hands down her body now, causing her arm to shake as she poured the glasses of wine, was hardly less passionate or affectionate than an artist in deep concentration.

Hermione turned to look at him. The lights in the kitchen were dim and gave little more than the brightness from the moon outside. In brilliant display of shadow and shimmer Charlie looked almost Godlike, his hair windswept, without any discernible effort, his eyes lusted over, his tuxedo so formed to his body that she could almost make out the ridges of his stomach through the sheer fabric.

She held up the glasses, wondering if she was going to be able to survive what the night had in store and leaned against the counter, feeling the loose ringlets from her elaborately constructed updo fall against her neck, moistened by the July heat and encroaching proximity of the dangerously handsome man before her.

"What are we toasting to?" Charlie asked, and she could already hear the huskiness of his voice that stirred, from the very recesses of her mind, images of erotic, carnal coupling.

She hummed for a moment. "To how dashing you looked in your tux," she began, "To how every woman in the room wanted you. But," she paused and whispered in his ear, hearing her own voice laden with subconscious intent, "I was the one who got to take you home."

Charlie all but growled, pressing his body into her own with all evidence of an already desperate arousal. He nipped the underside of her ear, sliding his wicked lips and tongue down her neck, leaving marks in its aggressive, impassioned wake.

Finally, finally, he leaned into her mouth, his breath hot on her skin and intimate in a way she couldn't fully understand.

"My naughty little witch," she heard him whisper, "Everyone thinks you're so uptight, but I know the truth." He paused and leaned back into her ear, his voice sinfully deep and commanding, "You're tight only for me." His words pulled from her a carnal, animalistic need, and she pulled his mouth to her, letting their lips play in desperate abandon, soft and needing and clashing together teeth and tongues.

"The couch," she murmured, their wine glasses left untoasted on the counter as he picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his sculpted waist, and moved them towards the couch.

For a moment, as he throbbed into her through so many layers of fabric, Hermione was sure she wasn't going to be able to go through with her plans for the evening, but the demanding and desperate look in Charlie's eyes made her yearn to tease him, to take him to the very edge and back. And so, as he settled them onto the couch, her legs splayed around him, straddling him into the leather cushions, she slid her hand down his cheek.

"Do you trust me?" She murmured, soft gentle touches to contrast just seconds before.

He looked up, eyes laden with need and clouded with lustful desire, but she saw something deeper as well, something that didn't seem to come from physical touch, but deeper and stronger.

"Of course," he said, his voice strained but strong, "To the moon and back." She pulled him back for a lasting kiss then slid from the couch.

"Stay there," she whispered, smiling when she heard him mumble that he wasn't going anywhere.

For a second Hermione just looked at the vision on her couch. Deep, fiery hair mussed to perfect, a chiseled, stubbled jaw that she could practically feel against her fingers. Ocean blue eyes, nearly gray with want, staring at her, as if wishing her to return. Sliding her view lower she bit her lip at the image of his tuxedo, top buttons undone, revealing toned and freckled skin, the barest hint of hidden tattoos visible from where she stood, the untied bow tie strung haphazardly around his neck.

Charlie leaned back and raised his eyebrow, amused as her obvious appreciation of his fit form.

"See something you like, Granger?" He teased, licking his lip for good measure. Hermione tried to turn before she grinned, but it was a lost cause. He was just too damn good looking and she was okay with that.

She quickly found what she was looking for, the silk scarf she had worn that night and somehow been divulged of in the course of the evening's activities. It was a work of artistic inspiration, beautiful, not only in design, but in pure craftsmanship, silken and soft and sensual in all the ways that had her thinking of the man in the other room. She took the other door from the kitchen, placing a few items on the table behind the couch and sliding her arms around Charlie's shoulders.

"Close your eyes," she whispered into his ear, and wrapped the silken scarf around his head, ensuring he wouldn't be able to see. "Deprivation of a single sense," she murmured to him, "Heightens the other senses." She traced his jaw with her fingers and slid her finger down his chin.

"Smell," she held out the glass of wine she had poured before, letting the scent permeate the room as she swirled the contents of the glass.

"Hearing," she moved ever so slowly, swishing the wine around, just near enough for him to hear it.

"Taste," she dipped her fingers into the glass and ran one over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth greedily, accepting her stained fingertips and sucking slowly. She tried to hold back a moan, but Charlie throbbed between her legs and she knew he had heard it.

"Touch," she all but breathed the word, dipping her fingers again in the wine and letting a few drops pool in the crevice of his neck, then dropping her lips to them, sucking the wine from his skin and reveling in the added scents of Charlie, woodsy fiery smells that danced with leathered books and fresh herbs. She was going to slowly drive herself crazy at the rate she was going.

Charlie seemed to be have a similar thought and groaned when she touched his skin, the ounces of resolve he had slipping quickly away.

"Fuck, 'Mione," he whispered, his voice a heavenly growl that pierced her to the core.

"Patience," she murmured, and much to the chagrin of the both of them, slid from his lap.

It took a moment for her to reach the zipper of her dress, but she pulled it down with precision and intent, letting the click of each tooth echo in the room and the sound of the satin pooling on the wood floor leave no question in the air. Then she opened the box she had brought with her from the kitchen and slid back onto the couch, her legs straddling Charlie's waist and her teddy - a beautiful lace piece, pressing against him.

She found pleasure in the slowness with which pushing off his tux revealed his body to her. Though still covered in the thin white button down Hermione could see the valleys and plains of his form, now moving quickly as he breathed, as if trying to steady himself against her pleasurable torture. She threw the tux onto the floor and tipped his chin towards her, placing her thumb on his lower lip.

He slid his lips apart and she picked up the box, selecting carefully.

"Use your other senses," she whispered, as breathless as he was, for the image of him panting and throbbing beneath her was a sight to reckon. He nodded and she placed a piece of chocolate between his desirable lips, giving him just enough to taste. He moaned at the delectability of the confection, a sound that went straight to womanhood, and gave enough more cause for her dripping like mad.

"What do you taste?" She asked, noting the huskiness of her own voice and wondering if she had in it her to last very long.

"Dark chocolate," he groaned, for she had taken to pressing into his arousal and making it difficult for him to concentrate.

"And?" Oh gods, when had she become so truly evil.

"And ras - oh fuck - raspberries." She rewarded him with another bite, and a lasting kiss that made her see stars.

She started on the buttons, selecting another piece of chocolate from the box and taking a moment to stare at the naked chest before her, bracers pushed to the sides the beautiful image of him blindfolded by midnight blue silk.

This time Charlie opened his mouth without her telling him to. She slipped in a shell shaped chocolate and asked again.

"Amoretto," he growled, licking his lips in appreciation, something she appreciated right back, "And ginger, I think." She nodded, forgetting in her lust covered haze, that he couldn't see her.

This time she pulled off his shoes first, then his socks, then his beautiful, arse-framing trousers that he had to lift his hips to throw somewhere to the floor. She slid out of her teddy and let that hit the floor, and unclasped her hair from the intricate updo.

Clad only in lace panties and her heels, hair wild and curling around her face, she slipped back over him, hearing the delicious moan as she pressed her naked breasts to his skin.

"You're so smart," she whispered, "Let's see if you get this one."

He did on purpose, she was sure of it, the motion of his lips as he sucked her fingers into his mouth made Hermione forget about the chocolate, forget about the wine and forget that she was supposed to be the one in control. She let a desperate moan escape her lips and she realized that the game was over.

"'Mione," she heard his whispered, his cock throbbing desperately against her most sensitive places. She all but moaned in response.

"I'm going to take this blindfold off," Charlie began, "And then I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't remember your own name, okay?" As if the bastard didn't know it was okay.

In one last goading attempt to stay in control Hermione whispered to the room ablaze with sexual tension and fervor.

"What are you waiting for?"

She didn't even watch the scarf hit the ground, instead busying herself with Charlie's lips and tongue and desperately wicked teeth as they marked the expanse of her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. He took a moment to appreciate each one, pulsing as she moaned when he rolled the tight bundles of nerves between his tongue and teeth. She could feel herself uncoiling and he hadn't even touched her yet.

"Ride me, Princess," he demanded, "Slide those beautiful legs around me and ride me."

She slid quickly out of her panties, sliding his briefs off and throwing them onto the ground in a fluid motion. They would have time for slow and caressing later, time for intimate knowledge of souls and bodies later.

In what had become the practice of the evening she straddled Charlie on the couch. Only this time she slid herself onto her, the position allowing his impressive length to fill her deeply and fully in a delicious stretch. For a moment neither of them moved and then Charlie lifted his hips and the rest was forgotten. She braced herself against the couch, biting and licking his abdomen and neck and she rolled her hips against his, grinding desperately and feverishly.

The frenzy of their coupling was intense and passionate, but she knew, with the teasing and testing and desperation, that neither of them were going to last long, a thought that passed just as she could feel the familiar coiling within her, the pulling taut of elasticity that meant a fast approaching wave.

And with one more buck of his muscular hips Charlie hit the spot she had been so desperate for and the tension snapped and she felt herself rolling, rolling, rolling, headfirst down the rabbit hole with such blinding pleasure that lights popped before her shut eyes and the world fell from below her feet and she rode him until she was sure she would fall unconscious.

She could still feel Charlie's hips jutting below her, and her satisfied smile was returned with a smirk.

"One more, baby," he tempted, "I wanna see you come again." His words were profane and desperate, the last vestiges of self control slipping from him. "For me," he muttered, moving one hand to cup her left breast and the other slipping in between her thighs, "Come for me."

Still sensitive from her first orgasm Hermione wasn't expecting the explosion of sensation she felt when Charlie thumbed her clit, his rough hands running up her temperature with the distracting movement over the sensory bundle of nerves.

"That's it Kitten," he was nearly grunting now, and the visible signs of his nearing climax only added to Hermione's advancing arousal. "Use your senses - look at me." She wrenched open her eyes to see Charlie's flushed expression, barely visible through hooded eyes. "Hmm, deep breath. Fuck, you smell so good." She could barely regulate her breathing, but for Charlie she steadied herself, smelling sweat and sex and wine bounce through the room.

"Do you hear yourself? Do you hear the sound of your heart and your breath? Listen to the sounds you're making." She tried to focus on what he was saying, tried to pay attention as the assault of pleasure coupled with Charlie's desperately guttural words.

"Taste yourself on my fingers," he muttered, clearly losing his grip as she wrapped her lips around the fingers that had, just second before, been driving her wild. The intimate and naughty act spurred her and she almost lost it, feeling the rising tide forcing her to a peak she never knew possible

"Touch." It was one word - the only one that mattered. Charlie placed his rough hand back below her and, with one final, definitive flick to her sensitive clit the wave crashed and she fell into a high that had her shouting Charlie's name to the room, vaguely aware of him pumping into her as she clenched around him, the vibration of senses pulling her in every direction and she rode for what felt like an eternity of brilliant, carnal pleasure, finally collapsing against his chest, sweaty and spent and panting, but viscerally alive.

Hermione could feel his heart pounding beneath her ear and felt a loss when she finally pulled off of him, an emptiness already filling in.

"Where," she began, her voice husky with pleasure and hoarse from screaming, "Did you learn how to do that?"

Charlie smiled a dopey smile, one rarely seen, and pulled her closer to him, despite the sweat and heat.

"I just followed your lead, Kitten," he murmured into her hair. "God, you look amazing right now. She took the moment to look at the two of them. Charlie's skin, tanned and freckled though it was, spoke to the nature of his hair, in deep blushes that covered him from stomach to biceps. Along the skin, and she could only assume his back as well, there were rivets of half moons, some that had even developed into full scratches from where her nails had been a means of expressing her pleasure.

She could only imagine how Charlie saw her, still wearing her damned heels, hair even wilder than before. She felt gorgeous, when he looked at her like that, and something more, as if he were seeing that beauty from the inside out. That was, at the very least, what she saw when she looked at him.

" 'Mione," he mumbled, voice lazy with sleep, but his arm already moving for something, and Hermione settled her back onto the chair of the couch, legs across his lap. "I wanted this to be special, but I really don't think I can wait any longer," he grabbed his pants and pulled out a midnight blue box.

"Somewhere between the first debate we had about the welfare of dragons and the neighbor waking sex we just had - " she smacked him affectionately on the arm, "I fell madly and deeply and completely in love with you." He opened the box. The ring was set gold with small, delicate rubies, Gryffindor colors that braided around like leaves on an old willow. It was classic and wonderfully antique and she felt as though he had taken the design straight from her own mind.

"Ms. Hermione Granger," he began, lying down on top of her and kissing her from the belly button to the chest, "Would you be willing to do this again? Say every morning for the rest of our lives?"

The ring fit perfectly and there was no chocolate left in the morning.

"So tell us about the proposal," Molly began, as the family and its familiar stragglers settled into a bustling Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Hermione took Charlie's hand under the table and tried to hide a giggle she was sure that Ginny saw.

"Oh," she began, letting her mind wander, "It was sensational."


End file.
